


In Memorandum

by DreamingAngelWolf



Category: Kings (TV 2009)
Genre: Birthday Sex, M/M, Memories, Minor Angst, it just wasn't happening :-(, not explicit though sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-12 00:24:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5647192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingAngelWolf/pseuds/DreamingAngelWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joseph's birthday now is very different to how it was then. Of course, Jack's the only one who knows that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Memorandum

**Author's Note:**

> This is a ~~so fucking~~ long overdue answer to an anonymous prompt I was given a few months ago on Tumblr. Apologies to the prompter - hope the wait was worth it :-)

The newspaper arrives with breakfast every morning. Jack reads it for a few reasons – namely for something to prevent Lucinda from trying to strike up conversation with him. No matter how hard she tries, there is nothing she has to say that Jack is even remotely interested in. If it didn’t irritate him so much, he’d be impressed by her persistence, but the fact that she seems to want to pretend everything is ‘normal’ between them pisses him off. Granted, the newspaper pisses him off too, but at least it’s useful. It tells him all about what his beloved family is up to these days. 

Silas is screwing up the country more and more, Rose is continually insisting she has nothing to do with politics, and Andrew is stepping into William’s shoes flawlessly. Interestingly, there’s been little mention of either Michelle or David Shepard, and while Jack has his theories about that, his mind is elsewhere today; because as well as what’s happening in Gilboa, the newspaper also tells him other little pieces of vital information. Like the date. 

As always, the memories are unbidden, and ruthless. 

***

The bar is one of his favourites. Spacious, good music, good drinks, plenty of people, and decent security. Fresh from the war front, it’s the perfect place to celebrate his visit home on leave, and having given the paparazzi their treats last night, this night is Jack’s. And deservedly so, he thinks. He’s doing well out there against Gath, keeping his men where they need to be and his nation defended – not to mention the fact that his father seemed genuinely proud of Jack’s recent promotion. So was he feeling good about himself? Yes. Was he going to have a good time tonight? Absolutely. Would he regret a few, if not all, of his decisions in the morning? He’ll wait until then to find out. 

“Was it a TV show?” 

The girl in his lap grins. She shakes her head, and her dark straight hair shimmers in the low lighting. “I’m not an actress, remember?” 

“Don’t have to be an actress to be on TV.” She giggles, drinks from his glass, hands it back to him. “Was it… a fashion event?” 

“Close.” 

“Something of my mother’s?” 

“Nope.” 

“Hmm.” The girl bites her bottom lip, eyes fixed on him like he’s her source of life. He points at her. “A photo shoot.” 

“Yeah!” she cries, curling her arms around his neck and leaning in for a kiss. He leads, focusing on the faint taste of his drink on her lips rather than how needy she is. It satisfies a craving is all, a desire to remember what it’s like to touch someone because and how he wants to. There are more, probably better, candidates in the room, but this photo-shoot girl with her straight, shiny hair and her eager eyes and lips was first in line, and it’s enough to know that he’ll make her night more memorable than she’ll make his. He should really get her name, just in case she causes trouble. 

Pulling away, he goes to take another drink to wash away the cherry lipgloss and is pleased to find his glass empty. Jack makes a disappointed face, showing it to photo-shoot girl, who pouts in sympathy. “Let me get another, then I’ll work out which magazine I’ve seen you on.” 

She slides off his lap, saying, “Get one for me, too?” with a few bats of her eyelashes, so like any man would, Jack caves and leaves her with one last kiss to seal the promise. And maybe he dawdles on the way to the bar, stopping to eye up Ronny’s girl and make him swear to treat her well, offering to buy them drinks too – because tonight is a good night, and everyone should feel good. No, everyone should feel great. 

“One for everyone at the bar and three specials to go,” he calls to the bartender, slapping down a fifty for encouragement. Thomasina might admonish him for his tab later, but it’ll be picked up anyway. And the guy’s hot. And talented. He’ll appreciate the gesture. 

“Is one of them for me?” 

Jack glances over his shoulder. “You’re at the bar, aren’t you?” 

“I guess.” Sliding himself into position a few inches away, Joseph’s all smiles, impossibly bright even without the lights of the bar directly above him. He’s nicely dressed, button-down burgundy shirt and slim black jeans looking fresh and new, and after a quick appraisal Jack’s eye is drawn to the glint of metal on Joseph’s wrist. 

“You got your gift,” he says, reaching for the drink placed in front of him. 

“You mean this ridiculously expensive piece of jewellery that, once again, had my friends and family incredibly suspicious?” 

He snorts. “Do you like it, at least?” 

Joseph sounds more sincere when he says “Yes, I do. Thank you, Jack.” 

“Don’t mention it. And it isn’t as expensive as you think.” It might be made by the most prestigious watch makers in Gilboa, but it had been the least offensive to the eye in the store, and much more Joseph’s style. 

“So, I know you didn’t call, but… do you have any plans tonight?” 

Jack scans the bar floor slowly. Everyone seems happily occupied, and those looking his way are discouraged easily enough when he avoids making eye contact. He raises his glass to his lips. “What if I do?” 

His shoulders move in a slight shrug. “I was hoping maybe I could persuade you to change them.” 

Chuckling to cover his surprise at the bold move, Jack seeks out his magazine model again. “There are people who might get upset about that.” She smiles coyly at him; he winks back to make her feel giddy. 

“Is it her birthday too?” 

“Really, you’re playing the birthday card?” 

“Well, it’s all I’ve got against her. Though I didn’t think she was your type.” She isn’t. 

He watches Ronny, attached to his own pretty thing by the lips, stumble backwards into the private room he’d rented earlier. 

“If you’d really rather spend the night with her, then just say so.” 

He should. 

“But I would like to be able to give you a proper thank you for the gift.” 

Internally, Jack curses first Joseph and then himself. Outwardly, he downs his drink, saying as he rests the glass back on the bar, “Night’s still young and I have a role to play.” More quietly: “Three o’clock, if you’re still up.” Then he leaves the bar, other drinks in hand, and returns to his living magazine photo. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he says when she fixes him with a pout, “can’t help that my face is famous.” She huffs, but has no problem with him kissing her back against the sofa cushions. Joseph Lasile is out of sight and mind. 

Not for long, unfortunately. As always, he worked his way in as the night dragged on, pulling on one of the Prince’s greater flaws: impatience. And oh, what a curse that is, having to play the game second by second, minute by minute, using every trick in the book to make time speed up and failing, still finding his arms full of model when he opens his eyes – a sign from above, some might say; but now, Jack is ready to claim his reward. With God’s blessing or not three o’clock shines on his watch face, and all that stands between him and his desires is a door. 

A door is hardly a worthy obstacle; he’s inside in seconds, kissing Joseph before words can be exchanged, and finally. Finally he can focus solely on the task at hand, rather than trying to imagine someone else is responding to his touch. Finally he can run his hands over a body that feels toned and strong, that isn’t going to melt between his fingers. Finally, Jack can enjoy himself – and Joseph – the way he really wants to. 

He pulls Joseph back against the wall, one hand on the nape of his neck to keep him where Jack wants him. He’s grateful Joseph had the foresight to loosen his shirt before the Prince knocked on his door – buttons are a waste of time, and it’s too nice a shirt to ruin. Both their tops are floored quickly enough, and Joseph immediately takes advantage of the exposure left in their wake. And Jack would be a bad liar if he said he didn’t enjoy this kind of foreplay; Joseph’s eager, which would only be endearing if he didn’t have the skill to match his enthusiasm. He leaves Jack’s skin tingling where he presses lips and tongue, daring to place marks where he knows it’s safe, and the further down he moves the more Jack wants him to do. He drops his head back against the wall, closing his eyes as he anticipates – 

Whose birthday is it here? 

With a slither of reluctance, Jack guides Joseph’s mouth back to his, stepping away from the wall and putting Joseph in his place. His surprise is palpable, but the Prince merely smirks and puts his tongue to work. 

The Queen once told her son his best asset was his face – handsome, she’d said, strong. Fearless. Inspiring. “The face of a future king.” He’s never had a bad word said against his looks, it’s true, but Jack is Rose’s son, and he knows he has far better tools at his disposal than good looks. A handsome face doesn’t make a king. If his father hadn’t told his butterfly story to the masses, and if his mother hadn’t wrapped the press around her little finger… well, to say he wouldn’t be where he is now is enough, and makes the point: Jack Benjamin was born with a silver tongue, and he soon learnt all the ways in which it could be used. Whether it’s commanding respect, weaving a lie, or charming and seducing, there’s almost no greater pleasure than leaving people speechless before him; and right now, Joseph is breathless. 

Going from experience, Jack teases him, getting heated and low before going up and lighter again, always close but never right there, never quite on the sensitive spots, the places he could breathe over and still elicit an intoxicating sound. He notes that Joseph’s hands are wandering, running through his hair and over his bare shoulders, the back of his neck, and feels the trails his fingers make lingering on his skin. A sign, he thinks, and stands straight, pressing against him for another kiss. 

“Bed,” he purrs into Joseph’s ear, and moves them there without further delay. He wastes no time taking advantage of the prone position Joseph ends up in, either, holding his wrists against the mattress as he sucks at the underside of his jaw (one of Joseph’s weak spots). A little hip action further south ensures that the birthday boy is well and truly at Jack’s mercy – and, as far as Jack is concerned, they’re only getting started. Some time later, he’s satisfied he’s made the night memorable. 

“What was… all that for?” 

“You can’t guess?” 

“Uh… Because… Birthday?” 

“Ah, so I didn’t quite fuck your brains out. Hmm. I should probably count that as a failure.” 

“No, no… Brain is… very fucked… Thanks.” 

Jack smiles into the skin behind Joseph’s ear. “My pleasure.” 

Joseph hums a laugh, his heart settling into a less-frantic pace under Jack’s arm, sleep coming to claim him. He’s sweaty in places, skin and muscles still radiating heat, and the marks Jack left are visible in the low lighting, nothing more than shadows. He wonders, sometimes, if marking Joseph is cruel – scratches and hickies stick around longer than he does, fading without a trace when the damage is healed. It’s for the better, though. The last thing he wants to do is leave a scar. 

“Not going to shower?” 

Shaking his head, Joseph mumbles, “Nuh-uh. Tired. In the morning.” He shifts a little, almost looking over his shoulder to ask, “Are you?” 

“No. I’ll do it in the morning too; just go to sleep now.” 

“Are you staying?” 

He swallows. “Go to sleep, Joseph.” 

***

“Jack?” Lucinda says, voice plaintive. “Is something wrong?” (Where would he begin?) “You’ve been staring out of the window all day…” 

If he dies, is that what she’ll do? Stare through the barred glass at a life withheld from her, thinking of a life she could have had? Of one man’s inability to love what he should? 

“Jack –” 

“Just go to sleep, Lucinda.” 

Her hesitance is palpable. “Are you coming to bed soon?” 

He sighs. “Go to sleep.”

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "It's Joseph's birthday, what does Jack do?"


End file.
